


Balance

by Ambrosia29



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Consent Issues, Drunkenness, F/M, Light BDSM, Mental Coercion, Pole Dancing, Stripping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5638102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrosia29/pseuds/Ambrosia29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth is lost, working at "The Hidden Timber." Daryl has been hired by her boss to assist in taking the business in a "new direction." As they work together, they are drawn closer by their inner demons and the ensuing balancing act could end their lives or save their souls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chandelier - Sia

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I'm kindof in love with AO3 so here I am. I'll still be updating on FF.N but here I'll be posting too. I'm an active member now, not just a fanfic-stalker! Okay now that I've been all creepy here ya go. Enjoy!

Balance  
  
Chapter 1: Chandelier

 

 

Her eyes, crystal blue were closed, skin whitewashed in the light beneath its shimmer. Her clothes echoed the glow. Her shirt was a sheer white peasant blouse, lacey peekaboo edge fluttering around her ribcage. The material which graced her hips was tight by any standards, more white, with lace ribbons dangling at the tops of her thighs from their bows. Her legs, bare but radiating strength, ended in stiletto heels. They looked like chrome and glass encasing her feet like she was born with them. The music began, “Crazy in Love.”

 

The lights glowed down on her, on and off in slow blinking eyes in time to the music, slow piano playing an ominous, haunted tune. She moved slowly, the grip along her anchor keeping her in place as she moved the rest of her body sinuously along the pole, moving around it before pulling it close like a lover. Her legs arced upward, graceful smooth things curling around and she spun inverted, the arch of her body as that of an angel beseeching God for redemption. The air whooshed through her ears and she pulled herself in tight, executing a shift in angle, locking herself in place with her and arms around the pole. The pose, arms around her knees with her face hidden at the top of the pole was small, sheltering…vulnerable. She shifted, body undulating just before she executed another turn and shifted yet again, body twirling in a spiral, arms thrown wide – graceful – fierce. She locked eyes with patrons, eyes filled with anguished desire, flicking between one – two – three men before tilting her head and allowing her hair to fall over her face. She slowly spilled onto the floor, writhing herself from her anchor and undulating slowly, oh so slowly as she slinked across the floor.

 

Her legs flitted into the air, fanning out and spiraling to turn her onto her abdomen. She placed her hands on the floor beneath her shoulders, pushing upward, back arched in a semblance of pleasurable activity. Hands sliding forward without leaving the floor, she crawled, her hips swaying in a way that should have come off as exaggerated but somehow beckoned. As the music came to a close, she arched onto her knees, swirling her hips to the floor as her hands each crept up her chest and down her inner thigh, gripping herself in seeming protest or agonizing desire. It was belied by her eyes, which held excitement and lust.

 

She smiled at the back of the room, then ignored the eyes of the men and women who stared at her, making her leisurely way to the left and exited the stage. The next number came on as she did so and she smiled at Cherise as they passed one another, taking the white robe from her companion while she mounted the stage.

 

“Beth,” said a male voice behind her, softly. She turned, spying her boss. He was a full head taller than she was – lots of people were – and his brown hair and eyes heightened his all-American blandly-good looks. He was spruced up by the charcoal and purple-pinstripe suit he wore.

 

He crooked his finger at her and she moved to join him in the office. It was well appointed, clean and polished wood gleaming on most surfaces. She suspected it was a throwback to the establishment’s earlier existence as a country bar. That had been ten years ago, when it was “Sap’s Taps”. Now it was a Strip Club called “The Hidden Timber.”

 

“Are you listening to me, Beth?” said his voice. She shifted her attention back to him, feeling a familiar ache and pushing it back into its box. _Not at work,_ she chided herself.

 

“Sorry, I must’ve spaced,” she said quietly, playing to her blonde curls. “What was it?”

 

“There’s a Gentleman in the back room. He wants something special and he’s already greased my palms for it.” She shifted in her seat, glancing from him to the door and down to the floor before looking back up at him.

 

“You know I –

 

“Don’t look at me like that; all he wants is a private dance. I’ll have Rosita just outside the room. Treat him special, he’s paying us a _lot._ ”

 

She breathed a sigh of relief or resignation and gave him a small smile. He gestured to the door and she went for it, grateful to be leaving the room and her benefactor.

 

She went straight for the bar. “Hey,” said Rosita, coming up behind her as she held up two fingers to the bartender. Glenn, their bartender, raised his eyebrows and poured her a drink when she nonchalantly tilted her head toward The Door. It held black curtains instead of an actually locking door, matching the black and shimmer of the walls. Even without the lights, Beth fairly glowed in the atmosphere of the club.

 

Glenn handed her the two fingers of Jack and she turned around in her seat to face Rosita’s disapproving stare. Defiantly, she tossed it back, savoring the burn as it slid down her throat. “You know he’s not going to like that,” she said warningly. Beth smiled. It was a grim smile. That familiar ache dissipated in the wash of alchohol.

 

“Well he doesn’t give a shit what I like so if he has a problem with me taking a shot before a private show he can go and do the deed himself.” Rosita sighed and offered a hand, which Beth took, allowing the young woman to help her stand. Not that she needed it.

 

The hand holding hers gave her a squeeze right before letting go and they walked together to the back and The Door. Once behind the curtain, Beth paused, taking a deep breath, smiling slightly, both because she needed to, for what was to come but also at the familiar warmth spreading through her limbs from her belly.

 

“You ready?” asked Rosita. Beth nodded and strode forward, her face a mask of country-girl innocence. Innocence that perhaps was still there, if buried deep, hiding from eyes that wanted to see it all, see her laid bare. But she swore she’d never let them see her so naked. “He gives you trouble, you shout for me.”

 

Beth found the door; the only white one in the back hallway littered with obscenely colored doors and opened it, striding inside.

 


	2. The Banality of Evil - Nine Horses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, the chapter titles are songs/artists whose music fits the mood of the chapter,not necessarily their description. So that might get a little weird sometime further down. Maybe. Anywho, give the music a listen while you read - its how I wrote it.
> 
> I'm excited: I'm going through the hoops to start massage school in a matter of weeks! Also, I just lost my job. So...suck. Extra time to enjoy Bethyl Smut Week though. I'm newish to the fandom but pleasantly surprised to see how active we all are! And that there is an annual event celebrating out favorite couple! So, here I am to polish my writing and push myself further as a writer. Anywho, wow what a rant. I'm sure you all want to know what happens next, hmm?

Balance  
Chapter 2: The Banality of Evil

 

Daryl didn’t think much of the club as he sat outside in his truck. It was an older POS he’d borrowed but he kept it in good condition, recently from a wash. The road trip out here wasn’t as long as he’d feared, but it had been lonely. 

He stared out the window at “The Hidden Timber” and made his decision. When he was honest with himself it had been made before he’d gotten in the vehicle to drive here. Made before he’d packed and left the cheap hotel he’d been staying in.

He straightened his jacket absently as he approached the bouncer. The bouncer was a large man in a windbreaker jacket to fend off the cold air. The man was large, skin a deep brown and his voice a baritone. “I.D. please?” he asked. Daryl held up his business card. The man’s eyes widened and glanced back at him in puzzlement, taking in his leather jacket and clean jeans. He kept the smirk off his face and said into the stillness, “I’m here to see Mr. Blake. I was told he’d be expecting me.”

The bouncer nodded once and stepped aside, allowing him entry. When Daryl did so, it was like entering a new world, sound system blasting into his ears. The walls were black and a swath of glimmer from the ceiling above him guided his glance across the large room in a single sweep. The walls and ceiling were black, creating a cozy atmosphere that belied the high ceiling that hung with lights. Nearly all of them were pointed to the large stage, where a young woman swirled around a pole. She wore very little and while he registered her form as attractive, he didn’t pay it much mind. Just another dancer. There were several women everywhere in the room, in various states of dress…and undress. Most of the latter were giving some expensive-looking men, young and old, lap dances.

One of them, a redhead with short-cropped hair approached him with a flashy smile. “Hello sugar, what’re you havin’ tonight?” She winked, “Or who?” He arched an eyebrow at the last comment but ignored it, instead asking a question of his own.

“Where is Mr. Blake? We have a meeting.” She immediately dropped the smile, looking a little disappointed but was all business as she led him to a well-disguised alcove holding a door. He passed inside without incident, eyes and ears relieved to find the interior done in wood paneling and silence.

The man sitting at the large desk had all the air of a politician or an upright business manager. He stood when Daryl entered, reaching out a hand to shake his own. “Please, have a seat,” he said in a voice that re-affirmed the politician description. “Would you like a drink?”

Daryl shook his head and casually waved the offer away. “No thanks. I’m here on business.” Blake sat back in his chair and regarded the man for a moment, taking up a snifter of what looked like brandy…or something.

“I’m pleased to finally meet you,” he began, “My contact has said good things.” Daryl kept silent watch of his facial expressions, waiting for the man to get to his point. “You’re known in the community, respected for your work and people generally have good things to say about you. Or so Shane tells me.” Blake looked around the room and held up his hands, gesturing o the sudden change in décor.

“As you can see, this establishment has gone through some…changes, in the past. And I think it’s time to expand. You see, we offer a very specific set of goods to the available market and while people are generally satisfied customers, there’s this niche waiting to be filled around here.” Daryl waited, taking a slow even breath as he listened. He lifted his hand to his chin and rested upon it, leaning forward slightly.

“And that’s where you come in. I need a professional to help me get started in the right direction; someone who understands the way that world works. I can’t afford to be laughed at, you see what I’m saying?” Daryl nodded a little, gesturing with his fingers for the long-winded man to continue. 

“I’m not talking about a huge overhaul here. There are rooms in the back for privacy, we have a stage already and I think enough of the girls would be on-board that we wouldn’t lose too many of them – or their regulars. I was thinking we could make it a twice-a-month thing and if it’s popular enough, we’ll do it more on the weekends. What do you think?”

“I think you’ve got yourself a plan, Mr. Blake. I’ll need to see these back-rooms so I can tell you how best to utilize the space. The stage won’t be too hard, just some adjustments probably to your ceiling fixtures and perhaps that back wall. Something discreet if you want to keep this going as-is for the most part.” As he spoke, Blake’s lips smiled and his eyes grew hooded and thoughtful. A tinge of satisfaction made the small smile playing on his lips genuine but Daryl noted the fact that he was watching ‘genuine’ happen.

“I can start working with the women as soon as you can send them to me. That’ll be the hardest part, figuring out which of your ladies will be on-board.” He shook his head, “I’m not interested in working with someone who doesn’t want this.”

“I think we’ll have you start with ‘Cherry-Angel,’” said Blake, “She’s one of our favorites and let it go to her head, like she’s better than the rest of the girls. She has a thing about rules so this is probably up her alley.”

“It’s up to the two of you,” Daryl replied, lifting his hands palm-up in the air in a defensive gesture. “I don’t need the run-down; we’ll have plenty of time for that later. Just send them to me when you’ve gotten it all squared away. One at a time, mind you. This isn’t a cookie-cutter field of work and everyone’s different.”

“Sure thing,” Blake said with a satisfied smile. “Sounds like we’ll work together perfectly, Mr.…” he faltered, letting the question go unstated, question implied.

“Hunter,” Daryl offered. 

“Good. Mr. Hunter, it’ll be a pleasure working with you.” Blake pulled out a manila folder and slid it across his desk. “Let’s get these contracts signed and then I can show you around.”

As they went over the contract, Daryl found himself satisfied with the amount he was being offered as well as the deal in itself. In addition to offering his salary for the work he’d be doing, both on and off the floor – and doesn’t that just sound suggestive, he thought silently – he was being offered a place to stay while he was doing the work. Food would be up to him but that was how he liked it anyway. Contract would be finished when the job was deemed done, though he noted the clause allowing for a more permanent position than outside consultant if he so chose later. Payment rendered every couple of weeks, until the full amount had been dispensed. He schooled his face into a pleasant mask, belying the pleasure he took in several digits and a single decimal. 

“Remember,” said Blake as Daryl reached for the offered pen, “You’re free to drink what you like when you’re not working, but the girls are off-limits. You understand?”

“It complicates things,” said Daryl knowingly.

The man nodded. “Yes, it does.”

“Don’t worry Mr. Blake. I don’t drink and I don’t have sex with clients. I’m a professional.” He pulled the contract a little closer and lowered his hand, signing it with an abrupt capitol ‘H’ and a subtly waving line. The name ‘Hunter’ was for his business and he used it, the proper authorities savvy to the pen name.

He looked up at Mr. Blake as he finished the signature, eyes calm but conveying warning from beneath his brows. Their eyes held, traded information and understood the silent warning, a caution to the man before him. A demand for respect.

“I’ll appreciate it if you don’t imply that again,” he said steadily. “You understand?”

Blake nodded once, not smiling this time. “We understand each other,” he said in a clipped voice, “perfectly.”

After a pause Daryl leaned back into his chair and smiled, saying into the silence, “Congratulations, Mr. Blake. You’re getting yourself a part-time Dungeon.”


	3. Alchohaulin’ Ass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you folks for your reviews and words of encouragement!

Music was playing, something instrumental and reminding her sharply of another time, another place. She writhed before the man, bracing her arms above and behind her on the pole, eyes fixated on his forehead as she pretended to look into his eyes. She sinuously lifted a leg, curling it up and out of his reach as he forgot himself. She pulled away a little and executed a turn, giving him the full view of her from behind. She snaked her arms down and stroked her sides, teasing him with whatever he wanted to imagine she was really doing. Facing away from him, she let her face fall into a blank mask of apathy.

 

Somewhat perversely, she’d found a thrill in it, in the dancing. She felt good when she danced, gliding around the pole like an acrobat in heat. That heat, she knew, was what drew them to her, like hungry moths eating at the flames they imagined she held. She felt alive. She knew they couldn’t touch her, so she was safe enough to let the flames of emotion lick through her limbs, across her skin like their eyes.

 

When she’d first had to do this, she hated herself. Still hated herself. She had been surprised at how easy it was, to shut it all down and put on the mask and smile for the Gentleman. After? She’d holed up in the employee bathroom attached to the dressing room and cried in as much silence as she could muster. No one knocked but when she’d exited, makeup washed off and face scrubbed, the women politely ignored her, giving her space and sympathetic glances when she thought they couldn’t see.

 

A hand slid like a ghost over her bare ass, abruptly jarred her from unpleasant memories and into bad ones. She whirled around to hide her shiver of revulsion, face blank once again. The patron had both hands in the air, mouth open to protest, eyes already pleading. She didn’t wait to hear it.

 

“You know my rules,” she ground out.

 

“Wait, I didn’t mean to – 

 

The man stood and stepped toward her as she shrugged on her robe. She’d retrieve her costume later. “Rosita!” she called without moving, though her voice rose higher than she intended.

 

The door burst open and the small young woman quickly stepped between them, giving him a sharp shove in the chest back into the chair. “You know the rules,” she said sharply, “Get out.”

 

“Now wait just a minute,” he began, moving from apologetic to angry, “I paid good money for this and I’m not going to –

 

“Take it up with the Boss,” said Rosita in disgust, “Now get out.” She turned to find Beth robed and outside the door, watching the exchange.

 

“Trust me, little lady, I will.” They both ignored him and Beth took the lead down the hall onto the main floor of the establishment, walking quickly. She paused to smooth her expression just before she whipped the curtain aside and they hit the floor.

 

* * *

 

 

The sound was somehow less of an issue when they exited the office and Daryl realized it had something to do with the acoustics of the place, funneling the sound to the front and back of the club, at the entrance and stage. The chairs and tables in the relative middle must have been serving to deaden the noise a little. But he stopped contemplating his ears as his eyes spotted movement directly across from the alcove they were exiting. A young woman in a light wrap, the most covered he’d seen a woman in here, exited out of a curtain-draped doorway. The blonde hair and white she wore was a sharp contrast to the black walls and décor.

 

She was followed quickly by another woman in regular jeans and a black polo shirt, dark hair in low pigtails. They both skirted the room, the pale blonde heading for the bar and the darker woman close behind, cutting her off.

 

“Excuse me a moment,” said Blake absently. Patient, he watched as the man met the two girls at the bar and exchanged a few words. Daryl watched the exchange, reading a quiet tension behind her smile and irritation in Blake’s stance.  He walked back to the corridor, the blonde behind him glaring at his back. “We’ll be a moment,” he said to Daryl as they passed, “Take a seat.” As she walked passed him her head swiveled to keep him in view, dark blue eyes fixated him with curiosity as she passed.

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as the door to the office closed behind him, Blake moved to the far side of the room, picking up the brandy glass and standing in front of his small liquor display. He sucked in a deep breath from his nostrils and looked heavenward, letting out the breath slowly through his lips.

 

Beth watched silently, standing opposite him at his desk.

 

He quietly poured himself a drink and finally turned around, placing it on his desk without touching it to his lips. Beth’s eyes flicked down to it and then the floor, wetting her lips unconsciously, prepared for a lecture.

 

Blake didn’t disappoint.

 

“Beth, what did I say?”

 

“Treat him special,” she replied without looking at him.

 

“And?”

 

“He’s paying me a lot.”

 

“Yes and now,” Blake said in a tight voice, “he’s going to be pissed and I’ll have to take care of it!” Beth’s shoulders hunched inward a little and she crossed arms over her chest, glaring down at a corner of the floor. “You understand what this means, right?” She rolled her eyes up to look at him. “I’m docking your pay. You’ll give me double my usual percentage.” Beth winced. She opened her mouth as if to respond but Blake held up a hand to silence her.

 

“I always get my due, Beth.” He looked down at his nails absently, “you should know that by now. Take a seat.” She did, pressing herself subtly as far into the back as she could. She wanted to get up out of the office and hide in her apartment. After shooting the glass on his desk. But she forced herself to appear relaxed in the privacy of the office and breathed like any normal girl would.

 

He sat down as well, taking the glass up in his fingers. He stared into it and again didn’t touch it. “You’ve been with us, how long?”

 

“Since May.” He nodded.

 

“So, eight months. You’ve been dancing and the regulars all seem to like you. But the girls are getting irritable, Beth.” He glanced at her, continuing in a slightly sing-song cadence, “They believe you think you’re too good for them.”

 

Her brow furrowed as she waited for him to get to his point, mouth pursed in confusion.

 

“You know what happens sometimes, back there in the Private Rooms.” He looked directly at her. “You’re the only girl I have on-staff who doesn’t fuck a patron now and then. And those patrons pay a _lot_ of money for the privilege. It’s worth it.” Her mouth went dry at the thought, a slight trembling in her fingers. She placed her hands on her knees, applying pressure to hide their shaking.

 

“I can’t,” she said in a small voice.

 

He slammed the glass down on the desk, sloshing the liquid over his fingers and onto the wood. He glared at the offending glass and took another deep breath, slowly pulling out a white cloth to meticulously clean his fingers.

 

“I know that,” he said quietly. “I have another idea,” he said a little louder. He stood and walked around the desk to stand beside her on the chair. “I’ve been trying to cater to your peculiarities since you’ve arrived but I literally can no longer afford to indulge you.” He held up a hand to stop her from speaking yet again and continued, his voice holding a trace of what she could only assume is kindness. “I’ve come up with another option for you.” He leaned down, his face level with hers as he balanced with his hands on his own knees, echoing her. “I’m giving you a _choice_.”

 

“You can start fucking some of our better-paying patrons, keep them happy and coming back for more…or you can _sub_ for those ones who want you to.” She blinked in confusion. “I’m taking the club in a new direction, _Angel_ ,” he made her stage name sound like an expletive, “and there are men out there who would love to play out their devilish fantasies with you and your innocent country-girl good looks.” He straightened, absently running a finger down a lock of her hair. Feeling the light contact, she subtly tensed, trying not to flinch. “And if sweet _Cherry-Angel_ can do it first then maybe they’ll do it too.”

 

“When you come out, tell me your decision.” He said firmly. “I have a business meeting to conclude.” He turned for the door, pausing in the doorway to look back at her. “Try braids next time. And clean that up.” He gestured to the glass on the table and the spill of warming liquid, “I hate leaving messes behind.”

 

As he exited the room, Beth stared after him for a long moment, eyes wide and lips parted slightly. She blinked, trying to process what he’d just told her. She knew which she’d choose, just like Blake had known why she’d clean up the mess. Her eyes fell on the shining crystal snifter and the pool of amber liquid inside and on the table.


	4. Nights in White Satin pt1

 

Mr. Blake re-emerged several minutes later and sat with Daryl at the empty table he’d chosen. Across from them, the curtain drew aside again and a man in a light grey suit emerged, straightening his jacket. He scanned the room and walked toward them. “My apologies,” Blake said to Daryl, “There is yet more business that needs attending. You’re welcome to linger if you wish, or head to your room. Which reminds me,” he opened his jacket and pulled a key out of a hidden pocket, holding it out to him. “This is yours, room 208 at the Hilton just eight blocks south.”

 

Daryl took them with thanks. “I’ll be arranging your apartment tomorrow, so you can stay there until everything’s been cleared.” Grey Suit had reached them but Blake waved him away, continuing quietly, “Stick around, if you wish, but we’ll continue your ‘orientation’ before we open tomorrow. It’ll be easier without all of the distractions. Pleasure.” Dismissed, Blake took his leave, jovially greeting the Suit and taking him by the elbow to the corridor.

 

Daryl watched as the blonde emerged, looking more relaxed than when he’d first seen her. When she realized the two men were in proximity and headed for her, she quickly stepped out and pressed her back to the wall to avoid them, keeping her eyes on the floor. Blake paused, giving her a significant look and tilting his head slightly toward the other man at his side. She pursed her lips and her chin moved laterally, giving half a shake. Blake responded with a small smile and arched eyebrow but nodded, satisfied. Bewildered, Daryl just stood beside the table, watching her walk slowly toward the stage and what he could only assume was the entrance to the ladies dressing rooms.

* * *

 

 

“I need a drink,” Beth announced to the room once she entered. The other girls rolled their eyes or chuckled at her quiet proclamation.

 

“You always need a drink,” said a young sable-haired woman in a pink and black tight getup.

 

“Does not, Jolene,” said a blonde in a corner.

 

Beth rolled her eyes and listened to them bicker while she shrugged and stood in front her station, grabbing a small duffel bag and pulling out her street clothes. She pulled on the jeans without removing her robe and turned her back to the room while she shifted out of it and pulled on her bra and a black shirt. The jeans hugged her curves but the shirt didn’t, loose in the bodice and tight in the shoulders and arms. It gave the getup a baby-doll look if she wore her hair wrong but she didn’t, opting to pull her hair back in a low tail.

 

“Anyone want to join me out tonight?” she asked casually, “I’m calling it quits early.” There was a chorus of agreement and a few dissenters. Jolene and most of the others opted to stay behind, Abigail; the corner-blonde said she’d meet up with her after she was done for the night.

 

She knew she shouldn’t. The responsible thing, financially, would have been to stay and work for as much tip money as she could fit into her clothes. Given the conversation she’d just had with her boss, she just didn’t care.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The music thrummed through her body as she swayed and tossed herself in time to its beat. She smiled, lips warm with whiskey and that warm feeling it brought, allowing herself to finally forget herself, forget her night, in its impermanent embrace.

 

She felt a body pressed firmly to her back and she snaked an arm behind her, using it as a guide to her movements. A brief, firm squeeze around her wrist let her know it was alright. She turned, waving her arms sinuously as she did so, taking in her partner. Rosita was in a different shirt, a bright blue that sparkled in the dim bar’s light. She smiled over Beth’s shoulder at the large man she felt coming close behind her. Beth slipped to one side as her friend launched herself forward.

 

Of course it was the large redhead, Abraham, who scooped Rosita up in his arms and gave her a quick and warm-looking kiss. Beth’s smile grew as she watched them together. She loved watching them, their casual affection and confidence with one another.

 

She stayed back and left the floor as the music changed to a slower song, heading for the bar. Jimmy and Eric were there and gave significant glances between her and the dance floor. She shook her head and held up a hand to the bartender, who started pouring her another shot.

 

Jimmy was cute in a farm-boy-attractive kind of way. Rosita often ribbed her for it, saying the two of them would make a cute couple. And for all that she did find him pleasing to the eye, the thought of doing anything about it made her stomach roil. So they stayed friends, as much as his chasing allowed them to. It was why she kept him at arms length.

 

Eric on the other hand, was the epitome of college-guy charm. His black hair curled when he slicked it back from his sloping forehead and thick-lipped smile. He had also entertained a crush on Beth but didn’t do or say anything about it, content with the quiet not-competition between him and his best friend. Especially since they were both losing.

 

 

After the song had ended, Beth sat in the corner of the table, laughing at a joke Abraham had just told. He was sitting across from her with his arm around Rosita and his face reflected contentment as he gave a soft kiss to his girlfriend while Beth watched. She glanced away, eyes falling on Jimmy and Eric, his arm was flung around Jimmy’s shoulders. They all laughed, though Beth hid her façade behind her glass as she took another drink.

 

The boys excused themselves as Eric dragged Jimmy to the bar to search for willing women and Abraham went with them to get another round of beer. “What’s got into you?” asked Rosita.

 

Beth’s eyes cut to her friend and then down into the glass, draining it on a muttered, “Nothing.”

 

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me Beth I’ve known you for months and haven’t seen you this tense since you arrived. Is it that guy? From work?” They kept their voices down, not wanting to advertise for their business while out trying to have fun.

 

“Yeah,” she lied, “but I just want to forget about it.” Rosita blinked and frowned a little.

 

“Okay,” she said simply, “If you need to, you know how to reach me.” Beth laughed softly and reached out to playfully push the slender girls shoulder.

 

“I know.”

 

Abraham appeared over that shoulder with another pitcher of beer and a smile beneath his bushy moustache. “Did I miss something? What do you know?” he asked Beth directly. She shook her head and smiled brightly as if nothing was wrong.

 

“I’m talking about the guys over there,” she indicated Eric and Jimmy with her chin, across the bar. Eric was chatting up another pretty blonde and Jimmy’s eyes kept darting between the girl and back to Beth while she pretended she didn’t see it.

 

“What about ‘em?”

 

“Their chances of actually getting to leave with one of the girls here.” Abraham furrowed his brow thoughtfully and didn’t bother hiding his stare as he took in the situation from several feet.

 

“Not happening,” He said baldly. Beth arched an eyebrow and poured them all more beer.

 

“Why not?” she asked.

 

“This is how I can see it playing out: Eric’ll chat up that girl, maybe one of her pretty little friends. I think the blonde is for him anyway.” They all stole obviously-covert glances in their direction, seeing Eric draw in the attention of a couple other girls in pink and purple, hair of varying shades in the dim light at the corner of the bar. Jimmy stood behind him, looking interested in the conversation, the girls faces as they nodded and smiled, playfully reached out and touched Eric’s arm. Jimmy began to shrink behind him, casually leaning against the bar with his back and draining his plastic cup.

 

“But Jimmy’ll screw it up for him. Won’t get himself laid with some random chick. Seen it too many times.” One of the girls sidled around Eric and stood in front of Jimmy, sparking up a conversation of their own.

 

“Why is that?” Beth asked, already knowing the answer. The girl slides closer, smiling up like a cat with cream at Jimmy’s blushing face.

 

“Because,” continued Abraham, now looking at Beth, “He wants you.” Jimmy drew himself back while the girl leaned in as if for a kiss. He jerked back when she leaned further, catching his balance on the edge of the bar. He pushed himself away and past her, muttering some excuse they couldn’t hear to Eric as he left. He glanced at the trio where he’d left them but instead of making his way back, he made a beeline for the door, not looking at them as he walked out.

 

Glancing back, Beth noted the way the ladies there had closed ranks, talking to their pretty-but-rejected friend and Eric followed after Jimmy soon after.

 

“Why do you let ‘em do that, honey?” asked Rosita. Beth looked back at the pair of them. “It’s been, what, a few months since you’ve moved here and I still haven’t seen you with one guy.” She held out a hand, a look of quiet alarm on her face for a moment. “Not like that, not – not at work. I just mean, you could have a boyfriend honey, some of the girls do.”

 

Beth spent a long minute looking at the door of the bar, considering. She wasn’t girlfriend material, she thought, certainly not for some college guy she’d meet at a bar. Not for the kind of guy she’d find herself with who was okay with the stripping. With…what was coming.

 

“I’ll admit I’m horny as hell sometimes. Drives me nuts,” she said softly, ignoring the way Abraham was pretending to ignore their private conversation. She appreciated his attempt at tact as much as his continued presence. “But I can’t do random sex.” The thought had her shivering, arms circling around herself for comfort.

 

“So bed the boy,” said Abraham, voice gruff if somewhat softened by his low tone at their table.

 

She shook her head. “I can’t. Not Jimmy, not Eric, as much as he’d enjoy it.” She glanced back at the door they’d exited from. “Hell, I’m sure either one’d make an excellent –

 

She faltered at the word ‘lover’ and found she couldn’t say it, stuck in her throat.

 

“I just can’t.” She looked back at them, her heart in her throat, in her eyes as the affection she felt for these two shone there in the dim light of the bar lights. “It would change things, anyway.” The two of them nodded mutely.

 

“Yeah, Rosita said, “It would.”

 

“He wouldn’t be able to let go,” Beth continued. “I’m tired of losing my guy-friends over unrequited lust. I can’t do that to them. I’m not in any shape for a relationship, either,” she gives Rosita a look, “you know why. And I can’t do strangers. Just makes me feel dirty… _dirtier_.”

 

“So you’re telling me you want sex so bad,” said Abraham, “sometimes it’s driving you crazy…but you won’t have sex because you don’t want to hurt anybody? Beth honey, you’re crazy.”

 

She chuckled at the short speech and shook her head. “Maybe. But it beats the alternative.”

 

He shook his head and chuckled the word, “Martyr,” at her. Rosita elbowed him playfully and rolled her eyes. They changed topics when Abigail joined them from work, Eric close behind her. Jimmy was noticeably absent, Eric giving her a look when Beth asked after him. But she stayed in her seat. No use following him.


	5. Nights in white Satin pt2

 

The coffee shop was bustling with activity at eight a.m. People impatiently waiting for their names and nicknames to be called out and I.D. their particular type of morning joe. The light outside was bright through the clouds, but then everything was too bright, too loud, too irritating this early in the morning.

 

Especially when nursing a hangover.

 

Beth sat at the back of the shop, having intentionally grabbed the booth situated the furthest from the windows and entrance. She was surprised to have found the nook this far back but then, no one else had to skip the bathroom line for the dumpster out back while she expelled both nerves and alcohol from her system. So here she sat the next morning, looking like a cliché in her dark sunglasses and grey sweater thrown over the previous evening’s clothes.

 

She pulled her coffee closer and wrapped her hands around it, wishing she could disappear into the dark liquid. Her phone made a quietly jangling sound and she pulled it out, glancing at the caller I.D. – work. She flipped it open, skimming the message.

 

_‘Make sure you behave.’_

She snorted and rolled her eyes, only to meet someone standing in front of her table. It was a man, his blue eyes catching her breath with the force of personality behind the color. His hair was long enough to frame his face, not quite reaching his shoulders. Despite the length, it was well cared for and trimmed. She wondered if the hair falling over his eyes was intentional or not. She took in his handsome face and stubble before glancing down the length of him. Jeans and a black shirt beneath a leather jacket. He looked vaguely familiar.

 

“Excuse me,” he said, taking her in, “I’m looking for…” his voice cut off as she unclasped her hands from around the coffee cup and read ‘Cherry Angel’ on the paper sleeve. “Right.” He sat in the chair across from her and extended his hand. She took it, expecting a strong grip and found herself pleasantly surprised when it was firm but not overpowering. Her eyes met his again and held as they shook. Or would have, if she hadn’t been wearing sunglasses indoors like some kind of poser.

 

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said. He blinked at her and continued mildly, “Could you take those off?”

 

She slowly took the sunglasses off, taking in his face as she did so. She knew what he saw: unkempt hair, eyes red-rimmed and likely bloodshot from the night before. She knew she should be having water. Should be.

 

His eyes flickered a little, between her two. He looked surprised for a moment, a slight widening of the eyes as he regarded her. His breath blew out softly and he blinked, gathering himself. He straightened from his casual slouch and re-arranged his hands around his coffee, mimicking her.

 

“Thank you,” he said softly, leaning back into his seat. “I like looking at your eyes.” She tilted her head to one side, asking without asking. He leaned forward a little, blue eyes piercing hers. “It makes things easier.”

 

“Easier how?”

 

He smiled, crinkling his eyes a little and toyed with the handle of his coffee, saying nothing. It was a dark smile, mischievous. She squirmed a little under his scrutiny.

 

“So,” she began, “how does this work?”

 

“Well, generally we discuss our experiences and what we’d like to get out of this arrangement,” he tilted his head slightly as he continued, “and that can mean a lot of things. In general, there are five primary…reasons…behind why people engage in these activities.”

 

As he spoke, voice low and intimate in the back of the coffee shop, aware of others proximity even when they were in the back and away from the general hubbub, he ticked off his fingers. “The first and most obvious are ‘Sexual’ and ‘Sensual.’”

 

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

 

He quirked an eyebrow at her, a spark of…something unnamed, undefined, going off in his eyes. It was small, a quick flare of the iris and gone before she could process it. “No,” he said simply. “Let me continue.” She nodded and folded her hands together in front of her cup, her work alias visible to anyone who happened to glance back at them.

 

“Sexual is exactly that: a person gets off on these things and uses it to satisfy themselves sexually. Sensual is different. _This_ doesn’t have to be sexual. Something as simple as,” here his voice softened a little and slowed into a lazy drawl, “brushing skin with feathers,” and returned to normal, “can be a rewarding experience.”

 

“The third is Psychological. This is less cut-and-dry because everyone is different. But basically, you get something out of it. Either because you’re exercising the mind in new ways, because of sub-space or working on some issue or another are common examples.”

 

“Emotional,” he hesitated a little and Beth wondered why, patiently listening, lifting the cooling mug to her lips slowly. “That one can be a little trickier. Some people want to feel something. It could be anything, it depends on the person. I had a client who was using our sessions to work through anger.”

 

“How do you mean?” she asked, surprising herself. She blinked as his eyes shot annoyance at her before softening.

 

“I don’t discuss other clients. If that’s something you want, we can talk about it as long as we’re working together but I’m not here for therapy.”

 

“Ah.” She bobbed her head once in understanding. She flicked her fingers at him and said, “Please, continue.”

 

He cleared his throat, “Another one people don’t usually think about is ‘Spiritual.’ Sub-space,” at her questioning eyes he cut himself off. “That’s an alternate mental state people find themselves in when they play sometimes. Kind-of like meditation…kind-of.”

 

She smiles wryly. “Yeah,” she laughs softly, “Because people meditate with whips and chains.” After she’s finished rolling her eyes, the breath catches in her throat. He’s looking at her. Intently. She swallows reflexively, suddenly feeling like she crossed a line, about to get into trouble with a teacher in her old high school.

 

“Yeah,” he says, his voice soft and slow, “Some do.”

 

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, glancing down into her emptying mug. “Sorry,” she says at the table. “Do - do you?”

 

“Do you want to find out?” he asks softly, eyebrows rising slightly as he looked down at his fingernails.

 

“I –

 

Inexplicably, she does find herself curious. The man before her is a stranger, yet they’re here, talking publicly about something that she’d think would be very private. He’s leaning back in his chair, eyes patiently gazing at her without being intrusive, waiting for her response. But he’s not _willing_ her response. He’s asking. For her opinion, regardless of what she should choose.

 

“Maybe later,” she finds herself saying nervously. He smiles, looking amused, charming.

 

“Don’t worry I’m not going to drag you into the parking lot. We’ve got time, enough at least to figure out some basics for you.”

 

“Did – did he give you a timeframe?”

 

“Not in so many words, but he has me working on some adjustments to the spaces in the back rooms of the club. I’m sure he’d like to have some willing Submissives to help test them out when they’re ready.”

 

“So I’m not the only one you’re…training?”

 

His eyes cut to her again and she felt like she was being scrutinized, examined, every detail of her features and clothes as though he could use the information to read her mind. But that was probably just nerves.

 

“Well,” he said slowly, “No. You’re the first, for now, but there’ll be others eventually.”

 

“Oh,” she breathed, a little relieved she wasn’t the only one going through these weird tangled roads that were her Boss’s desires.

 

“Look,” he said, tone soothing and leaning forward on his arms his fingertips forming an upward point before him. Glancing down she noted their mirrored positions and took her cool mug between her fingers. “I can imagine how overwhelming this seems. I just want to make it clear, now, that I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to. You’re new to this. Not gonna rush you. We’ll start small and if you want, I can help you process it all. It’s part of why I’m here, to help you figure out what you’re okay with doing and make sure you know what’s okay and what’s not.” He shook his head ruefully, “Lord knows, there are enough douchebags out there’d make this something it’s not supposed to be.”

 

She watched his eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity in them, in his posture. She relaxed a little more, taking a deep breath that loosened more muscles in her shoulders than she’d expected it to. He watched this happening and blinked slowly, brow furrowing infinitesimally.

 

“Do you want to do this?” he asked suddenly. She knew what he meant: any of it. All of it. Knew, too that she could say no. She could say no and walk away, go back to work and tell her boss that she’d changed her mind. Someone else could do this. Others _would_ do this. It didn’t have to be her.

 

_But if I do…_

 

She couldn’t finish the thought. She looked back up at – _what the hell is his name?_ – eyes resolute in her answer.

 

 _Do I_ want _to do this?_

_No._ “Yes.”


	6. Water Me

 

She toyed with a napkin, glancing down again into her cup of coffee.

 

He sighed. She was avoiding his gaze and he wasn’t certain how much was because of her dishonesty. But there would be time to talk about that later.

 

“What’s your name?” he asked. She finally looked up at him and glanced down at the words on the mug. “Don’t expect me to call you ‘Cherry-Angel’ all the time, do you?” Her head tilted to one side and her brow furrowed as she contemplated her answer. The silence stretched for another thirty seconds before his patience wore thin. He let out a sharp puff of air in exasperation and took a deep breath.

 

“I guess I could call you ‘Cherry’ til you’re tired of it.”

 

“How about ‘Angel?’” He met her eyes, his own hard against her soft questioning orbs.

 

“No.” _S’not a damn romance novel._ “Why, does it make you uncomfortable?” She nodded. “Good.”

 

“What’s your name?” she countered.

 

“Hunter.” Her deadpan stare made him want to smile.

 

“Is that really your name?”

 

“No. I’ll give you mine when you tell me yours.”

 

“Fine.”

 

Before the following silence stretched again, he reached into his pocket and gave her a piece of paper, with a printed list on it. As she glanced down the list her eyes widened.

 

“I know, it’s a little overwhelming,” he said as he watched her reaction, “It’s a little easier if you start with crossing out everything you’re not willing to do. At all. Then go ahead and make a mark for what you’re willing to try or curious about. And then the things you’ve done or think you’ll have fun with.”

 

“Fun?”

 

“Yeah,” he said, eyes glinting with mischief and suppressing a smile, “some people think this is fun.”

 

She stared at him, lips twitching at the absurdity of the statement, the situation. He held her gaze and let that smile spread across his features, silently relieved when she returned it with one of her own. The first smile he’d seen on her. Didn’t quite reach her eyes.

 

He took a sip of his coffee nodded at the paper before her. “You go ahead and fill that out, let me know if you have any questions. I’ll be right back.” He stood, leaving her to stare with perplexity into the list and went to the bar, ordering two large cups of water. While he waited, he leaned against the counter, eyes casually taking in the coffee shop. The greens and browns. The woman sitting at his table.

 

She’d obviously been out the night before and looked slightly hung-over. The makeup looked like it was from the evening prior, smudged from sleep. Beneath it all, she was pretty, with her large blues and blonde hair twining down her back, over her shoulder. Her ankles crossed under the table as she paused, fingering something on the list with her brows drawing together. He smiled softly, wondering what she’d seen. If she wanted to try it. His smile tugged further at the corners and he realized with a pinprick of anticipation that he was hoping she’d tell him what it was. It’s been so long. _So long._ He cleared his throat, taking the proffered water and shaking himself.

 

 _This isn’t for you, Hunter,_ he kicked himself into mental submission. _You’re here for her._

_Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it…_ said a voice which slid through his mind. He pushed that one back into its corner along with the twisted mix of desire and guilt threading its way through his chest.

 

The water swirled around the cup as he set it down beside the paper, turning his head to see her progress before he sat down. He smiled, in spite of himself.

 

Less than half of the list remained. Half of _that_ was crossed out entirely; the last quarter was marked with a series of little question marks and stars.

 

 _Inner child,_ he thought to himself.

 

“Let me know when you’re –

 

She pushed the list toward him before he’d finished the sentence. He looked. Most of what he expected to be had been crossed out. The stars were next to what was left: _bondage, submission, leather, role-playing, slave training._ The question-marks were next to _intricate rope bondage, sensation play, impact play, punishment, wax play…_ there were more question-marks than anything else.

 

Mostly what he’d expected. The entire “Sex” section had been crossed out with a large ‘X’, one entry in particular scribbled into a black mess of nothing. Squinting at it for a second, he had his guesses which it was. He wasn’t surprised at that one either. Most women, especially new, crossed that one out.

 

“So,” he said, leaning on his arms over the table, “You’ve got a lot of question-marks. Let’s begin with ‘sensation play.’”

 

~

 

After going over the list and negotiating a few things, he invited her back to his apartment and she agreed. No point in prolonging the inevitable. She covered the thought with a small fake smile.

 

The apartment is clean, sparse. He moved through the space comfortably, his own despite the lack of time spent within its walls. As he moved about, taking objects from shelves, cupboards and a closet, she surveyed the apartment. The walls were the standard white and the carpet beige. The entrance was narrow and led into a single large room which encompassed the living room and kitchen. Another hallway narrowed the opposite end of the living-space and disappeared in darkness. She could only assume it led to his bedroom.

 

She idly wondered what his bedroom looked like.

 

She moved to the table, positioned in the space between the kitchen and living-space. He’d laid out a number of items: a plastic spatula, twine, a scarf and a bar of Godiva dark chocolate.

 

She glanced at him, wondering what the heck they were going to do with all of this.

 

“You wondered what the difference between ‘Sensual’ and ‘Sexual’ are, right?” She nodded, again looking down at the assortment of items on the table laid out as though they were so much cutlery for a meal.

 

“Feeling brave?” She tilted her head to the side, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. He had removed his jacket and as he stood there casually, his lips curled up into a small smile as he glanced at her.

 

“What do you have in mind?”

 

“Something simple, if you’re up for it.” He held up a hand and pressed the air down before her, hesitating to touch her arm where she reached to finger the spatula. “I know, a little fast; this’ll be something small. A taste,” he said with that flash of something in his eyes as he smiled. Something about him looked positively…wicked.

 

“If you want to stop, just say the safeword.” They’d gone over safewords and safety in the coffee shop, having refilled their mugs twice. He pursed his lips for a moment, finger brushing over his lips as he regarded her.

 

“Your safeword is ‘red.’ Some people use something more personalized, ‘red’ is a good universal.”

 

She paused for a second, trying and failing to come up with something. She shook her head. “I can’t think of a thing.”

 

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.”

 

“Okay.” She squared herself before him, a little apprehensive but not afraid. I mean, there was a _candy bar_ on the table for crying out loud. What could he do with a spatula? A scarf?

 

“We’re going to play a little game,” he hesitated half a second, “Cherry. Dominance and Submission are pretty self-explanatory. I tell you do something and you follow directions. Got it?” She nodded.

 

“Got it. So, what now?”

 

“You ready?”

 

It was her turn to hesitate. She glanced down at the table and looked back at him with more resolve. “Yeah.” His head tilted as he regarded her, eyes taking on a slightly sharper edge. She didn’t know how else to describe it. Whatever it was, the look sent her heart beating a little faster.

 

“ _Yes,_ ” he corrected, an edge in his voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago. She blinked at the change and swallowed, lifting her chin in challenge. To him, to herself and what she was committing to.

 

“Yes,” she repeated steadily.

 

“Take the blindfold and stand over there,” he gestured to the empty space in the living room where a table – or something – should be. She looked again at the contents of the table and picked up the scarf, moving to stand in the middle of the living room. He stayed beside the table – she noted that it oddly had no chairs – and picked up the twine.

 

“Place it over your eyes and tie it at the back of your head.” She hesitates, blinking once. He stays where he is, sighing quietly but with patience. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says with tenderness, “Promise. You’re going to have to trust me, if we’re going to do this at all. Any of it.”

 

 _Haven’t earned it yet,_ she thought to herself. But it made sense. She raised the cloth to her face and wrapped it once around her head, covering her eyes and tying it at the base of her skull. She heard his footstep coming slowly, steadily closer and resisted the urge to step back. She felt fingertips on her hand and jerked, surprised.

 

“Kneel, then reach both arms behind your back” he said. His tone was soft, but it was no less an order. She knelt, carefully holding out a hand to find the floor and help herself settle on her knees as she lowered herself down. It was different, with the blindfold. Disorienting. When she was confident in her balance, she reached both hands behind her back.

 

“Open your hands.” She did, finding a piece of twine pressed into both palms and she instinctively grasped it in her fingers. “Don’t let that go,” he said warningly. She nodded.

 

“You’re going to open your mouth and stick out your tongue,” Blindfolded and kneeling, the suggestion brought a mental image to her mind’s eye that had her gut clenching in distaste, a grimace surely on her lips.

 

It was delivered in soft tones, though no less than what it was: “Red.”

 

There was silence and she felt more than heard that he’d stepped backward. “You okay?” he asked, mild concern lacing his voice.

 

She paused, taking a breath slowly and contemplating her answer. Nodded. He hadn’t actually done anything to her and she wasn’t going to let her imagination run away with her. Not again.

 

“Yeah.” Truth. “Just testing,” she lied.

 

“Good,” he said, voice back to business and brusque. “You’re going to stick out your tongue,” he said again, speaking as though the words weren’t at all suggestive while she knelt before him blindfolded, “and I’m going to place a piece of chocolate on it.”

 

“Do not,” his voice was implacable, “eat it. Understand me?” She nodded. “Good. Open your mouth.”

 

She did, sticking out her tongue, feeling more than a little silly. Her tongue had begun to dry a little in the air as she listened to the crinkle of wrapper and she pulled it back in, swallowing the gathering saliva before sticking her tongue out once more. The air before her face warmed a little and seconds later she felt the chocolate square press gently to the tip of her tongue. Just the sweet, not even the barest brush of fingers, for all that she could feel his warmth in the air on her skin. She shifted, waiting. Her mouth opened and she drew her tongue back in.

 

“Don’t,” he said, giving her pause, “Don’t close your mouth. Just let it sit there and melt on your tongue.” So she did. After a few moments, she began to taste the chocolate a little more. First it was a tingle in her taste buds and then she tasted the sweet, so sharp. It began a slow aching in her tongue. Carefully, she swallowed, feeling a little awkward, making sure it stayed put.

 

It was hard – harder than she’d thought it would be. After only a few moments, perhaps thirty seconds – a minute? Her throat ached with the desire to swallow that piece of candy, to close her mouth around it and run it over her tongue, her palette and savor its taste. Her hands began to tremble, her breathing deepened subtly. She tightened her fingers around the twine, pulling it apart in an attempt to excise her desire to…it wasn’t enough.

 

Her tongue rose in her mouth, still open but barely as she pressed the chocolate to the roof of her mouth and slowly rubbed the tip of her tongue against it. She gasped sharply when she felt it: the edge of something long and hard beneath her chin. The edge felt sharp. She wished she could open her eyes, closed beneath the blindfold when she felt the air warm, breath disturbing her hair.

 

“Not going to swallow that now, are you?” purred a rumbling voice before her, nearly in her ear and sending gooseflesh prickling along her neck and arms. She opened her mouth a little wider, ache sharpening against her desire to _eat that damnedly delicious piece of chocolate,_ showing him as proof of her obedience.

 

Obedience. That last word made her gut twist, rankle and her jaw set.

 

Defiance.  She swallowed.

 

The air in the room seemed to still, its silence ringing suddenly in her ears. The edge at her throat slid slowly up her chin and away. She knew he was still standing there; she hadn’t heard him move.

 

Just when she began wondering if he had left her there, she felt again his radiating warmth and a tugging at the back of her head. The blindfold released and she blinked at the sudden light.

 

Eyes. Blue eyes, something dark, sharp, measuring her. She froze, holding her breath as she knelt, pinned in place by his gaze like a songbird staring into the eyes of a hawk. She gripped the twine in her hands even harder to keep from trembling.

 

“If this had been another time,” he said in a voice of soft warning, “there would be punishment right now.” He said the word, punishment, as though it suggested words like ‘soft,’ ‘bed’ and ‘fuck’ all at once.

 

She let out a shaky breath, her throat tightening, a strange tingling running through her body at the threat in his words. She swallowed a couple times before she could speak, fighting gooseflesh rising on her arms.

 

“Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re not doing that.”

 

He smiled. It reached his eyes, made them spark with something she had no name for.

 

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out.”


End file.
